


Mesmerized

by MissBianca



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: (I just added Bianca to the 2016 european BOTS tour because I love the cast okay), Angst, BOTS tour, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Romance, ft. katya with some much-needed humor, he's also a lil bit of an alcoholic and very anxious, or basically Roy's guiltily in love with danny, using drag names AND boy names depending on context
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 20:53:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11112669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissBianca/pseuds/MissBianca
Summary: “It’s two thirty, Adore,” Roy replies, feeling the dimple in his cheek deepen as he half smiles at her despite himself. “You’re still in last night’s drag, you still smell a little like weed, and that poor wig looks like it was gang raped. So, I dunno, what did you do, exactly?”There’s a pause, and Adore stares at him sleepily, tongue peeking out between her lips again. Then, she cracks a smile, bright eyes narrowing lazily.“Aww, Bea, were you worried about me?” she teases. “You were, huh.”





	Mesmerized

Bianca isn’t a maid. 

She repeats that to herself in her head, determined, even as she picks up Adore’s shoes and dresses from the floor of their shared hotel room. It’s a half hour before they’re supposed to be on the elevator heading to the van, and she’s already in full drag, minus her heels. 

Danny, however, is not. He’s been awake for all of ten minutes, and has been showering for eight of those. Of course, he’d forgotten that they were performing in the hotel theater this time, and getting ready in their rooms beforehand.

With a long sigh, Bianca peers in the mirror, patting the side of her wig and hoping that there won’t be any loose hairs by the time she’s done cleaning. The makeup strewn over Adore’s side of the counter below the mirror is a mess, and after a moment Bianca starts organizing that too, her hands itching for activity.  

The compulsive organizer in her is at her most active when she’s stressed, and everything about the BOTS tours is stressful, from the reckless behavior of her younger ‘sisters’ to the constant traveling and Danny’s unrealistic sleeping habits. 

Basically, her past month or so has been a nearly nonstop buzz of anxiety and stress. It’s almost always there. And that’s why she’s cleaning compulsively. 

“You’re not a maid,” she reminds herself firmly, out loud this time. 

Perfectly on cue, the bathroom door cracks open and Danny’s head pokes out, hair wet, a grin on his face.

“Nah, you’re like a little housewife or something,” he comments, and Bianca glares at him. “What? It’s a great look on you.”

“Get dressed, bitch,” Bianca snaps, flipping him off. “You’re making me late.”

Danny laughs, his nose scrunching up, and then the bathroom door clicks closed. Bianca flips Adore’s eyeshadow cases shut, and sweeps all of the lipsticks into her hand before setting them neatly upright against the wall.

There’s no point to any of this, she realizes. In a few minutes, Danny’s going to paw through his shoes and makeup as he transforms into Adore for the night, and a mess is going to be left on the counter and the floor just like it was last night, and the night before.

And Bianca will come back to the room first, drunk, and look at the mess, and then fall asleep as soon as she’s de-dragged. And then, she’ll have unsettling dreams about the mess swallowing up the whole room, until she can’t find anything and she’s late to all of her shows.  

Bianca figures Danny’s a great roommate other than the messiness, though. 

Well, aside from the weird sleep habits and the faint but neverending smell of weed that hovers around him and the constant connection with his phone screen. And the pizza boxes that manage to show up in the room most nights, sometime between when Roy goes to sleep and Danny does.

So really, he’s not a great roommate at all. 

But there’s something about him that calms her down, with the way he talks and touches her casually. At least, when he’s not too busy stressing her out by being  _ late. _

To be fair, there’s no one outside of the ABCDs of drag that Bianca would be able to tolerate sharing space with anyway. And Darienne’s not on the tour cast. And Bianca doesn’t trust Courtney not to bring men back to the room at night.

That leaves Danny, the most tolerable.

Also Bianca’s (and Roy’s) favorite, even though she’d never say it out loud. Mostly because Danny would probably tweet about it, or put something on snapchat, or bring it up in every single conversation for the rest of their lives.

She thinks Danny knows, though. Adore can get away with murder around Bianca, and she’s probably the only person in the world who can. Someone’s bound to notice sooner or later that she’s Bianca’s soft spot. 

The bathroom door swings open, and Danny stumbles out sleepily, wearing a loose, low-cut dress that will inevitably make Michelle Visage fume all night.

“Hurry up,” Bianca says pointlessly, and Danny flips her off with a grin before sitting down in front of the mirror and knocking over all of his lipsticks as he reaches for foundation. 

Shaking her head, Bianca perches on the edge of her bed, eyeing the uncomfortable heels that she’s going to be wearing all night. The whole room is neat, with nothing left for her to tidy, and her pulse is faster than it should be, body stiff with nerves and stress.

“I need a drink,” she mutters. 

“No, you don’t,” Danny argues. “You need to stop drinking when you’re stressed.”

“You need to stop making me stressed, bitch.”

“It’s not my fault that you’re high strung,” Danny shrugs. “Anyways, I’m just trying to look out for you. You always do for me.”

“You left a half hour to get ready for a drag show, like a fucking idiot,” Bianca retorts instantly, the words coming out a bit harsher than she intends. Danny glances at her in the mirror, hurt showing in his eyes, and Bianca winces. “You don’t get to mother me, is what I meant,” she says, her voice quieter.

“Whatever.”

“I don’t wanna pay the minibar fees anyway,” Bianca adds. 

Danny doesn’t reply, and Bianca’s heart rate jumps again as she inevitably starts to fret that she’s actually upset him. Danny is sensitive, even more so out of the armor that is Adore, and Bianca suspects that something in him really thinks that she means it whenever she insults him. It’s why she tries not to. 

She clenches her hands into fists, her eyes closing for a moment. He was only trying to look out for her, and she’d had to go and snap at him. He wasn't even wrong, which was the worst part. She did need to drink less. 

“We can just get shots at the bar before the show,” she suggests, an attempt at a peace offering, but Danny only shrugs. 

Swallowing, Bianca thinks for a moment. She slides off of her bed, walking over to where Adore’s wigs are laying in bags, and rifles through them for a moment with shaky, nervous hands, before one catches her eye. 

In a few moments, the wig is set on her spare mannequin. It’s the blonde one with the dark roots that Adore had had since drag race, not even a lace-front, but still one of Bianca’s favorites. She grabs a comb and a can of hairspray, and starts fixing the wig as quickly as she can, teasing up the curls. 

When she glances over at Danny, he’s been replaced almost entirely by Adore, staring at her own face in the mirror. Bianca watches as she sets the eyelashes in place, and reaches for a nude lipliner, leaning in close as she draws the familiar lines. 

She goes to reach for a nude lipstick, but Bianca steps closer and grabs a lighter one instead. Adore frowns, confused. 

“This’ll go better with the wig,” Bianca explains, and Adore peers past her, a small smile growing on her lips as she sees the wig that Bianca’s done for her on the dresser.

“Thanks,” Adore says, looking up at Bianca, eyes wide and surprised.  

“No problem,” Bianca responds easily, her nerves calmed a bit as she sees the affection growing again in Adore’s eyes. 

A few minutes later, Adore is securing her wig, tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth as she checks herself over one last time in the mirror.

“You’re gorgeous, come on,” Bianca says impatiently, hovering by the door with her bag over her shoulder. 

“I know,” Adore drawls, turning to the side and checking out her own ass. “Let me feel my -”

“Don’t,” Bianca interrupts with a laugh. “Shut up and get over here.”

Rolling her eyes, Adore steps into her heels and follows Bianca out the door. As they walk towards the elevator, Adore takes her hand, squeezing, and Bianca knows she’s forgiven. 

The warm weight of Adore’s hand in hers is calming, holding her steady and secure, soothing the fluttering of her heartbeat. 

“Hey, Bea?” 

“Hmm?”

“Why does it take you, like, forever to get in drag?”

“Bitch, how many times do I gotta tell you?” Bianca shakes her head, looking up at Adore incredulously. “I put my dick under the wig, that’s how I get the height. You think that shit happens quickly?”

Adore laughs, and Bianca rolls her eyes. She knows Adore’s heard that joke a hundred times by now, and it has to be some kind of miracle that she still thinks it’s funny. 

“Okay, but, seriously. Why?” 

“Are you calling me a liar, Adore Delano?’

“No, c’mon! I wanna know!” Adore’s half whining now, her eyes slightly squinted as she grins. 

The elevator doors open, and Bianca pulls Adore inside. 

“Listen,” Bianca says finally. “We can’t all roll out of bed fifteen minutes before call time and wobble around like the little mermaid right after she got her legs, okay? Some of us have to have their shit together.”

“That wasn’t supposed to be an insult, right?” Adore drawls. “Because I’m literally a mermaid.”

“Mmhm, yeah, yeah.”

“Straight from the ocean, bitch.”

“Shut it, fishtail.” Bianca rolls her eyes.

“You  _ looooove _ me,” Adore teases in a low voice. She’s pressed herself closer to Bianca’s side, and her lips are right by her ear, the sensation raising goosebumps on Bianca’s chest.

“You’re a whore, get off me,” Bianca retorts halfheartedly, and Adore only laughs breathily before pressing her lips softly to Bianca’s cheek. Bianca’s eyes flutter shut.

The gentle kiss only lasts a moment, but it’s long enough that Bianca swears she can still feel the imprint of Adore’s lips burning on her skin after she pulls away. Bianca shivers, and Adore squeezes her hand again, pulling her back down to earth. 

“You better not have gotten lipstick on me, queen,” Bianca warns after a moment. 

“I didn’t!” Adore insists. 

Bianca’s about to make a snarky comment, but the elevator comes to a stop, the doors opening to let in Violet and Katya. 

“Vies!” Adore exclaims, and then her hand isn’t in Bianca’s anymore and she’s surging forwards to cling to Violet instead. And like clockwork, as soon as Adore and her attention are gone, Bianca starts to feel anxious again. 

“Hey, babe,” Violet laughs, stumbling back a few steps and wrapping an arm tight around Adore’s waist. “Chill for a sec, I’m cinched really tight and I might fall over.”

Sighing, Bianca leans back against the wall of the elevator, pointedly looking away from the two younger queens. They’re always touchy with each other, in a way that’s close to being sexual, almost all of the time.

Bianca knows it probably doesn’t mean anything, but it pisses her off to no end regardless. Particularly when Violet pulls Adore away from her side, like now. 

The elevator hits the ground floor, and Adore and Violet exit first, still tangled up. Bianca stalks out after them, wishing she could set Violet on fire with the force of her glares, her heels clicking angrily against the marble floor. 

After a moment, a shoulder bumps against hers, pulling her out of her vengeful thoughts. She turns to see Katya next to her, wearing a dress printed with knives and smiling brightly, as always. 

“Violet asks if I wanna fuck most nights, you know,” Katya says conversationally. 

“Who would’ve thought,” Bianca deadpans, and Katya laughs, completely unfazed by her bitterness. They follow Adore and Violet through a door at the edge of the lobby, walking down the dimly lit corridor to backstage.

“I almost said yes one time, but I’m glad I didn’t,” Katya continues. “I think her hungry asshole might’ve swallowed me up. Fully.”

Bianca glances at her, and Katya only grins wider. 

“You’re crazy,” Bianca says observationally. 

“Certified psychopath, mama,” Katya agrees. “But listen.”

“I am listening, bitch.”

“The point is that Violet’s always like that,” Katya continues, more seriously. “It’s got nothing to do with Adore. Shit, if you didn’t act like you hated her, she’d probably be in your lap right now doing her best to pop your tuck.”

When Bianca looks at her again, Katya’s eyes are softer than usual. There’s something so infinitely wise about them that Bianca feels almost like a child throwing a tantrum next to her, instead of a forty year old man in a wig.  

For a moment, she wonders if Katya’s somehow read her mind, and is trying to comfort her somehow with this bizarre bit of oversharing.

“So she’s a whore, is what you’re saying,” Bianca says after a moment to lighten the mood, raising an eyebrow as they come to a stop outside the green room.

“Absolutely. Straight up hooker, gila monster, herpes-ridden -”

“I get it,” Bianca cuts her off with a laugh. “Fuck, two hookers in one hotel room. Reception must be busy calling you about your customers all night.”

“Yes gawd!” The corners of Katya’s eyes crinkle with delight as Bianca joins in on her joke. “Don’t fret about it, Barbara. I know who Vi stalks on instagram at three AM, and it’s not Adore.” 

Katya pats Bianca’s arm before heading down the hallway towards the stage. 

“Wait, who is it?” Bianca calls after her, a moment too late, just as she rounds the corner and disappears from view. “Fuck you!”

With a sigh, Bianca steps into the green room, pushing past Sharon and Jinkx and quickly finding an empty seat in front of the mirror. 

“Hey, pussyface,” Courtney chirps. 

“Hey, Court.”

Bianca falls easily into mindless chatter with Courtney and Jinkx, eating up the time before the show. 

They’ve been touring for awhile, and by now, the show is routine enough that Bianca hardly even has to think the whole way through. She watches from the wings and goes through the motions for her segments.

It’s not until Adore covers Purple Rain, near the end of the show, that Bianca actually starts paying attention. The performance pulls Bianca out of her bad mood, and she watches, mesmerized, the emotion in Adore’s voice moving enough to tug at even Bianca’s cold, dead heart. 

When Adore leaves the stage, magnetic and burning with emotion, her gaze moves quickly over the collection of queens watching before fixing on Bianca. 

She makes a beeline for her, brushing away the tears forming in her eyes from her performance before falling into Bianca’s open arms with a breathless laugh. 

Bianca wraps her up in a hug, holding her tightly, sighing as she feels her body relax. Adore, on the other hand, is shaky in her arms, buzzing with energy from the electric crowd and her leftover high from smoking earlier.

“That was fucking incredible, Adore,” Bianca breathes. 

“Best performance I’ve ever seen you do,” Courtney adds from next to them. 

“Just Violet left, and then the finale,” Adore comments, still slightly out of breath. “Then we can go get drunk?”

“I’ll buy the shots,” Bianca confirms.

Adore doesn’t leave her side again for hours after that, hovering around her during the finale and following her like a puppy to the noisy bar across the street. Courtney and Violet and Sharon are there, too, but Bianca hardly notices them, too distracted by Adore’s constant closeness.

And once the alcohol starts to set in, Bianca stops trying to divide her attention among the other queens and focuses solely on Adore. The way that Adore looks at her when she’s listening to her talk makes Bianca want to tell her stories all night, and when Adore pulls her off of her stool and tries to dance with her, Bianca doesn’t resist.

At some point, Bianca can’t remember exactly when, Adore lets her go and leaves the group to dance with somebody else. That’s the last time Bianca sees her. 

After that, Bianca’s priorities shift, and suddenly she needs to be blackout drunk, as if the alcohol can compensate for Adore while she’s gone. 

And if she’s not blackout drunk, she knows she’ll start thinking about what Adore will probably be doing later tonight, and she’s determined to avoid that at all costs.

The last thing she remembers before everything goes dark is Katya out of drag with his arm around her waist in the elevator. He’s talking about wind-surfing on a beach, and then he’s gone and Michelle is looking concerned as she drags Bianca down a hotel hallway.

Then there’s nothing.

\------

Roy isn’t worried. 

Really. Worried isn’t even close to the right word for what he’s feeling right now. A more accurate one might be exasperated. Or infuriated, if he wants to get dramatic about it. There’s nothing about Bianca that isn’t extreme, so why not go there?

It’s two PM, and Adore is still passed out facedown on her bed in last night’s wig that Roy had picked out for her, ripped up tights and dress clinging to her sprawled form. 

Roy has been up for hours, long enough to shower and eat and drink his killer hangover away (with water and coffee, not more alcohol, as a still worried-looking Michelle insisted) and even go out shopping with Courtney. 

And after all that time Adore is still here, knocked out.

Roy isn’t really  _ surprised  _ by this, in any way. It’s normal behavior for Adore, in or out of drag. It’s more the unknown series of events that led to her collapsing in a heap on the messy hotel bed, without even taking off that wig, that bothers him.

The last time he remembers seeing her was through a low level haze of alcohol, when she was wrapped around Bianca’s back at the bar with her lips parted beside Bianca’s ear. Just before she’d left to go dance with somebody else.

Shaking off the memory, Roy glares at Adore. He’ll brush the wig later, he decides. There’s no way to trust that Danny’s going to, and he likes it too much on her to let her ruin it.

As Roy stares at Adore, wondering how she can manage to sleep like a starfish and a dead porcupine at the same time, he starts to wish he’d tried to keep an eye on her after she’d left them. He doesn’t like to think about what bullshit she gets up to, and he tries not to care, either, but he can’t help worrying  _ sometimes _ .

After all, she’s his roommate. There’s a sense of responsibility in that, he figures. Like somehow, if she winds up dead in an alley somewhere, it’ll be his fault for not hauling her faded ass back to the hotel. 

He’d blame himself forever if anything happened to her, even if nobody else did. He’s sure about that.

Roy’s not even sure he could lift her. Drag isn’t a career that requires upper body strength. But he’d definitely put in an effort to carry Adore, if he had to. 

Sighing, Roy crosses his arms over his chest and glares at the back of Adore’s head.

They don’t have anything to do this morning, but Roy’s been awake for long enough to organize everything on his side of the room  _ again _ .

But Adore’s side of the room, which Roy had just cleaned the day before, looks like the aftermath of a terrorist attack. Or like the site of an all-night orgy, which would explain the clothing that Roy doesn't recognize. 

He knows he's not a heavy enough sleeper to have missed something like that, but he has to wonder why Adore never wears half of the shit that the floor is currently wearing. 

There’s more pairs of shoes strewn on the floor than Roy’s ever seen on Danny or Adore. Clothes that she’s probably planning on performing in are in piles, and the makeup supplies in front of the mirror are in a messy heap again, as if Roy had never put in the effort to line them up so perfectly. 

It’s at times like these, when he’s annoyed and worried and bored, that Roy wonders why exactly he’d asked to room with someone who lives in such a dramatically different way than him. It’s like she creates mess, wherever she goes, just by walking into the room.

With a sigh, Roy gives in to the urge to stress clean. He stands up briskly and strides across the room, crouching to start lining Adore’s shoes up against the wall. Again. 

Adore’s shoes are organized by style in no time, and Roy promptly moves on to the suitcase worth of clothing that seems to have exploded onto the carpet. 

Sighing, he crouches, shaking out a t-shirt and folding it quickly in the air before setting it beside him and moving on to another. The organizing is almost relaxing for him, the familiar movements and the way it occupies his brain just enough to keep him from going crazy from inactivity and stress. 

Roy grabs the last item of clothing on the floor, a red bra. Turning his head to the side to crack his neck, he surveys the three stacks of clothing - shirts, pants, and the dresses and underclothes. Satisfied, he lifts them one by one into Adore’s open suitcase and pushes it back against the wall next to her shoes.

Another dramatic sigh later, he’s standing in front of the mirror, brushing loose eyeshadow off of the counter and picking up her lipstick tubes from where they’re scattered off to the side.

He sets the odd colors down first, and pauses on a bright red that he recognizes, smiling slightly. Twisting it up, he brushes a little onto the back of his thumb, and stares down at the red streak, feeling a tug in his chest.

Roy remembers this color. 

It had been Adore’s favorite a couple of years back, when they’d been in the top three together. They’d spent hours at Adore’s apartment or Courtney’s in WeHo, the three of them on a couch or a bed, drinking and laughing and pointedly ignoring the fact that in just a few weeks, one of them would have a crown and a title and the other two wouldn’t. 

Roy never spends time in drag when he doesn’t have to, but Adore likes it sometimes, keeping her girl face on for awhile longer. He remembers one night like that, when the three of them were lying close together in Courtney’s bed and laughing at her trade stories. 

Roy didn’t know whether it was because of Courtney’s wine or the blunt Adore had smoked a few hours before, but with every few moments that passed, Adore had curled closer to him. Her cheek had moved from his bicep to his chest, a hand sliding slowly onto his stomach, her fingernails scratching at his skin through the insubstantial tank top he’d been wearing.

Every touch had made his body buzz, and somehow calmed his mind at the same time. He didn’t know how she did it, but over time he grew to crave it, almost like an addiction. 

Adore probably doesn’t even remember the moment, but Roy thinks he must’ve burned all of it into his memory somehow. The heat of her pressed against his side, the light touches on his skin, the brush of her exhaled breaths across his chest. 

She’d fallen asleep like that, snoring softly, Roy’s arm curled hesitantly around her. And when she’d finally woken up enough to let go of him the next morning, she’d left a smear of that bright red lipstick on his shirt. 

Roy had complained halfheartedly, but Adore had only laughed, licked her thumb and tried in vain to wipe it away. Roy’s gaze had stayed caught on her parted lips, though, mesmerized by the way her tongue still poked out slightly.

Whenever he thinks about those weeks, Roy tries to block out how scared he was that whatever the three of them had might die out. That Courtney would win and leave Bianca and Adore for a life of glamour drag with more perfect queens behind her. 

That Adore would win, and hit mainstream faster than any of them knew was possible, walk red carpets and live in a world that didn’t involve Roy. He could've lived with that, he thinks. She deserved it, and she had wanted it so badly that Roy had almost wished he could tell Ru to give her the crown instead. 

His worst fear of all, though, had been that that he himself would win, and that Adore would resent him because of it. That she'd never get lipstick on his shirts, never make his chest ache when she laughed, never look at him in that special way that she did again. 

Even though the crown had given him a ticket true success, Roy thinks he’d rather have Danny love him like he does than wear it even for a day. 

And every time he sees him, or her, Roy is beyond grateful that having her and having success aren't mutually exclusive. 

The sound of a yawn behind him brings Roy back to the present, and he sets down the lipstick quickly. 

Turning and stepping around to the side of her bed, Roy sees Adore’s head lifted slightly. Now that her face isn't covered by her wig, Roy can see that her makeup is still partially intact, a bit smudged and melted but not awful. 

“Bea?” she mumbles, eyes blinking open slowly.

“Good morning, asshole,” Roy replies, voice coming out softer and kinder than he intends. Trying to compensate for the lack of bite in his words, he crosses his arms and glares halfheartedly at Adore. 

Her tongue darts out to run over her lips, still smudged with the remainders of her nude lipstick from the night before. One eye falls shut, her head turning to the side to rest on her arm as she looks up at Roy.

“What did I do?” she says after a moment. It comes out slow and sleepy and whiny, and Roy wants so badly to be annoyed by it, but he doesn’t have the heart.

His little trip down memory lane has made him weak for anything and everything Adore, and he can't manage to deny how cute the whining is. 

“It’s two thirty, Adore,” he replies, feeling the dimple in his cheek deepen as he half smiles at her despite himself. “You’re still in last night’s drag, you still smell a little like weed, and that poor wig looks like it was gang raped. So, I dunno, what  _ did _ you do, exactly?”

There’s a pause, and Adore stares at him sleepily, tongue peeking out between her lips again. Then, she cracks a smile, bright eyes narrowing lazily. 

“Aww, Bea, were you worried about me?” she teases. “You were, huh.”

“No, chola, not even a little,” Roy chuckles, smiling fully now. “I know you can take care of yourself.” He pauses, lips twitching, and Adore raises an eyebrow. “And at least five other fags, too,” Roy continues, grinning wider as Adore giggles sleepily. “Or was it six? I’d have to take a closer look at that wig.”

Adore’s nose scrunches up as she laughs, and Roy swallows hard as he watches her. 

“Mmmm, I wanna nap,” she sighs once her giggles fade, cheek squished against her arm. 

“Uh, no, bitch,” Roy argues. “You just woke up, get in the shower and get that shit off your face.” 

Adore lifts her head again, and she's pouting at him now.

“Don't do that, you know puppy eyes don't work on me,” Roy retorts. 

He can't help but notice her eyelash hanging partially off her lid as he looks at her, and he drops back down onto his knees next to the bed, scooting forward. 

“Whatcha doing?” 

“Hold still,” Roy says by way of reply, one hand coming up to hold her chin. Reaching up, he tugs her lashes off gently, folding them into his palm carefully to keep them intact.

Adore blinks rapidly a few times, and then shakes her head slightly. Roy pulls his hand back from her chin, where it had lingered a few moments longer than he intended. Without the lashes, Adore is more androgynous than ever, the lines between her and him growing blurred, like the edges of her eyeliner. 

There's a soft sigh, and Adore props her head up on her fist, blinking at up him with those gorgeous eyes. 

They're colored a sea glass green at first, but as Adore turns her chin slightly, the light hits them differently. Roy swears he sees blue tucked behind the green, hidden but bright enough to shine through in flecks, like gold dust in river water. 

Roy doesn't realize how close he's gotten until Adore huffs out a quiet laugh, and he feels the air against his cheek. He pulls back a little then, catching the playful smile that curls on her lips. 

Adore’s tongue pokes out slightly again, and a hand reaches up, fingertips brushing oh-so-gently over Roy’s cheekbone. Her eyes drop from her fingers to his mouth, and he can't quite breathe. He's not sure he remembers how. 

She tugs her lower lip between her teeth, fingers running higher, up his temple to press lightly, dancing across his hairline.

There's something mesmerizing in the way she touches him sometimes, Roy thinks. So hesitantly, softly, like he's a wild animal, and if she's not careful he might disappear and never get close enough to touch again.

Adore’s fingers drag back down, and her palm flattens gently against his cheek. Her grip hardens bit by bit, fingertips pressed into his skin, until she’s tugging him forwards slowly but surely, tongue sliding over her lower lip. 

And maybe he is like a wild animal, Roy realizes. The instinct to bolt is there. He can feel it, tucked into his chest under the calm softness that Adore is pulling out of him like melting caramel with every tug of her fingers on his skin. 

Adore’s eyes wander his face, her eyes dreamy but expression focused as she sighs warm air against his lips. 

He’s so sure she’s going to kiss him, and he’s powerless to stop her, even if he wanted to.

And then, she doesn’t.

All of a sudden, her hand is moving away, and so is she, sliding back on the bed. Her head falls to rest on the pillow, and she looks at him, her eyes deep and soul-searching. He’s on the edge of panic, wondering if he’s fucked up, until she speaks.

“Come lay with me.”

She pats the spot where she’d been before. Roy opens his mouth to protest, but then she takes his hand and no sound comes out. 

“I wanna look at you,” she adds, an adorable smile on her lips. “But I’m too sleepy to hold my head up.” 

There’s a pause, and then Roy is smiling too as Adore tugs on his hand. 

“C’mon, baby,” Adore urges. 

Roy wants to come closer, of course he does, but it’s hard to move. How is he supposed to explain that when she looks at him like that, every muscle in his body forgets how to work?

Adore blinks slowly at him, and he forces himself to move, standing up unsteadily and toeing off his shoes. She won’t let go of his hand, his palm caught between her thumb and middle finger, and she tugs him forward again until he lays down next to her. 

The space between them is small, and the closer he gets, the more Adore becomes just Danny with makeup. He supposes that’s all she is, though. She’s the only drag queen he’s ever been mesmerized by like this, and maybe it’s because she’s just the same with or without the face painted on.

Roy reaches up to slide his fingers along the hairline of her wig, tucking his thumb underneath to find the pins. Her hand comes up to join his, loosening the few that are still in place until the hair piece falls away behind her.

“There you are,” Roy murmurs, finally speaking, his voice a soft rasp. 

Adore’s lips curl in a gentle smile, and he’s so, so beautiful. 

“Bea,” he says, drawing out the syllable, moving Roy’s hand to rest on his waist.

“Yes, baby?”

“If I kissed you, would it mean anything?” 

Roy swallows, searching Adore’s face slowly.

“Only if you want it to,” he says finally, and then Adore’s hand is cupping his jaw, thumb tucked gently into his dimple. 

The tip of Adore’s tongue pokes out, his gaze falling slowly to Roy’s lips. Roy wants to move forwards and kiss him, but he’s useless under his touch, just waiting with his breath caught in his chest.

Adore’s fingers hook behind his jaw, and then he tugs Roy forwards, leaning in ever so slightly to press a feather-light kiss to his lower lip. 

Roy’s lips part, a quick exhale flooding out of him at the spark of contact. His fingers dig into Adore’s side, and Adore gasps softly, catching his own lower lip between his teeth.

Adore’s beautiful eyes are narrowed slightly, and there’s a moment of complete stillness. 

And then, he smiles slowly, his whole face shifting. It’s as if the sun’s finally coming out from behind the clouds, and Roy realizes in a second of breathless clarity that he’d do anything for him. 

He opens his mouth slightly, about to put his thoughts into words, but Adore is leaning in again before he can, crushing their lips together and kissing him for real this time. 

Roy’s kissed a lot of men in his lifetime, even men that he loved. Kissing everyone feels slightly different, he figures. But nothing has ever felt anything like this, like every press of Adore’s mouth breaks him wide open, like every inch of their bodies that touch double and triple in heat. 

Like if Adore stops kissing him, he might pass out, crumpled on the bed as Adore breathes out the air he stole from Roy’s lungs like smoke. 

And Adore does stop kissing him, too soon. He gasps in air, chest rising and falling quickly, and this feels better than being drunk, and he knows he’s hooked now. 

Adore’s fingers brush over Roy’s cheek, then wander back to stroke gently through his hair, and Roy is useless again, immobilized and vulnerable under his touch.

“Did that mean something?” Roy manages to murmur once he’s caught his breath, his hand on Adore’s back now. 

There’s a pause, as Adore’s fingers tease through his hair. The soothing touches ease the anxiety that was starting to build up in Roy’s chest, and his arm tightens around Adore, pulling him closer as if he might drift away. 

Adore chuckles softly, his lips curling in a smile.

“Yeah,” he says finally, crossing the few inches between them to press another kiss to Roy’s lips. “Everything.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the first thing I wrote for this fandom - I absolutely love Biadore, and this idea occurred to me awhile ago when I was trying to imagine Bianca on a tour among all these younger messier queens. And then I imagined her rooming with Adore, and...here we are. Katya's in there too, because I love writing her, and those few paragraphs may be my favorite part of the whole thing.


End file.
